Stargazing
by Sunruner
Summary: The Italian Alps are well known for their beauty, not to mention the various ski lodges and resorts nestled amongst the snowy peaks. In true Italian fashion, nothing says 'I adore you' quite like warm wine, fine chocolate, and starlight. Engita. Established.


******Born from a tumblr prompt asking for Engita cuddling while looking at the stars. Obviously I suck at capturing the spirit of requests. Established relationship.**

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_**Stargazing**_

Stargazing on a cloudy night was one of the stupidest things Arthur had been asked out to do in a very, very long time.

"I don't think we're going to see anything... I'm sorry! I'm sorry I dragged you out here, I just thought it would be fun!"

"Don't be like that, love, come sit down." But just because it was stupid didn't mean he was going to throw in the towel and give up just like that. With a sigh, the nation made himself try and chip away the frown on his face, a mighty effort with poor results, and looked over at the person standing at the balcony railing.

Italy was embarrassed. The whole weekend seemed to have done him in, slowly grinding away at his boundless confidence and casual gracelessness. He'd booked them up into one of his ski resorts in the mountains between his territory and Switzerland, and on the first day, their room hadn't been available due to over-booking and a website error. The room offered after that had not been previously _cleaned._Dinner on the first night had seen Arthur order three different entrees from the critically acclaimed restaurant, only to be informed that all three were out of stock in the kitchen.

The resort's ski-lift had broken down that morning, how charming. The ski village was noisy and over-crowded thanks to no one being able to get up the mountain, so Italy's new white winter coat had a large chocolate stain where a small child had run into his legs with the dessert clutched in one sticky hand.

Since they would be leaving for a conference in Geneva tomorrow, this had seemed like his boyfriend's last major attempt to salvage a classically romantic weekend: a thermos full of warm spiced wine, a box of his best chocolates, a soft, cozy blanket, and restricted access to the moonlit terrace on top of the resort with a breathtaking view of the village below them and the mountains around them.

And the village was beautiful.

Sort of.

It was more like a blurry, golden-yellow glow through the haze of winter fog.

The moon and mountains were much the same way.

The stars? _Pfft._

"I'm sorry..."

"Italy, come sit down." Tugging the gold ribbon off the chocolate box, Arthur hoped the sound of rustling paper and the pervasive scent of rich, luxurious chocolates would tempt his lover back to come sit with him. Instead, Italy kept standing there, elbows on the cold metal rail, and it looked like he had his face in his hands. Arthur set the chocolates down.

"Feliciano."

"I'm _sorry_."

Arthur stood up, distinctly remembering a humiliating attempt to show his lover the original beach where the English had landed in Australia, only for them both to get locked out of the rental car in the middle of summer on an abandoned stretch of highway with only one dead cell-phone. Mishaps like that were terrible, but commonplace.

So he slipped an arm around Feliciano's back and stood next to him, other hand on his lover's shaking shoulder before he leaned down and tried to get a kiss somewhere on his head or face that wasn't covered by gloved hands.

"I love you," Arthur reminded him gently, and it finally got Italy to straighten up, eyes watering and face streaked with tears, to look at him.

"I just wanted a _nice_ weekend with you-" he blubbered, choked up with sobs and flushed even in the dim light around them. "Just- a nice room and good food and then skiing and- _and-_"

"I noticed the chocolates aren't Italian." His comment froze the tirade.

"...You like Belgium's more." He sounded offended. "You're wrong, but they're still your favourite." And they were fresh, meaning he hadn't picked them up a month ago in Brussles, but had most likely arranged something with a familiar spunky blonde acquaintance of theirs.

Just the thought of it, just the hint of how much he cared, the genuine way he hadn't used _'your favourite chocolates'_ or _'Belgian chocolates'_ to get Arthur out here in the cold. The fact that Feliciano had simply told him that there was good wine, a blanket and the stars waiting upstairs started up a toasty, happy feeling in Arthur's chest.

"Stop smiling, today was awful." His poor, woeful Italian wasn't being like himself at all if he really wanted Arthur to stop, which gave him all the more purpose as he reached up under Feliciano's chin and tried to coax him closer. "Arthur no-"

"You make me happy and I adore you." He kissed his forehead instead of his lips then, acknowledging the 'no', but still trying to pull him into a hug. That, at least, Italy accepted. "Perfect is relative, this weekend was per-"

"Finish that sentence and I'm going back to bed without you," Italy moaned miserably. He had his face pressed down tight against Arthur's shoulder though, arms around him tight and clinging to his back. Arthur had the satisfaction of holding him close and comfortably against him, and despite himself he was smiling in the dark, foggy night.

"The village does look beautiful."

"Like looking through a foggy window." So pessimistic- this was _North_ italy in his arms, no? They hadn't switched while he wasn't looking?

"Fogged up glass can be fun."

"For... drawing pictures?" Feliciano finally looked up, and his question was so innocent Arthur was now trying very hard not to laugh.

"Not what I was thinking of, but yes, for drawing pictures." He'd been about more vigorous things, though, and was clearly not doing a good enough job about hiding that fact because Italy abruptly picked up his weight and stood straight.

"Arthur!"

"Well you mentioned _bed_ and _foggy windows_ and I just-"

Italy burst out laughing and Arthur, delighted by the change, kissed him for it. The kiss broke instantly for more laughter, which meant Arthur had to go after him with more kisses, brief smooches and touches that kept the cycle of giggles and touches going. Italy protested between gasps but Arthur kept on him until his lover was bent back in a dip, and then finally he pulled them both back up with one arm still close around Feliciano's waist, hands clasped to the left and his partner beaming.

"There's snow in your hair, amore." And then there were Feliciano's hands brushing back quickly over Arthur's head, looping behind his neck and pulling him into a properly loving kiss, mouths held warm and coaxing against each other.

"Nn?" What? "I don't taste anything, don't you want your chocolates?"

"I want you back to normal first, on my count:"

"What?"

"One two _three-_"

Feliciano laughed out-right when Arthur gripped him tight around the waist and pulled him around in a turn, his hand grasping for Arthur's free one and his other arm wrapped tight around his shoulders until Arthur brought them to a stop so his partner could adjust.

"What dance?" Feliciano was laughing and Arthur kissed his cheek, nuzzling close against his face and feeling a delighted push back as his lover repeated the question.

"Anything, I don't care." It was snowing, the only reasonable excuse for clouds on a star-gazing night. Rock salt spread across the hotel terrace crunched under their shoes, pieces of silver glittering from the service lamp lit from behind the glass walls of the closed restaurant they'd come through to reach this place.

They twisted and twirled clumsily, stumbling from waltz's to trots, to Feliciano on his toes for something more Mediterranean and Arthur pulling away so only their fingertips were touching in the memory of empire. But they were smiling, and Feliciano laughed so wonderfully when Arthur bowed to him, and the English nation almost slipped on the slick concrete tiles beneath them when something from a century ago came out of both of them with kicking knees and snapping fingers, fingers woven and arms pumping trying to remember just how to tap and slide the way they had when it had been the style.

"Arthur-" And with the snow an inch high on the cold metal rail around them, Feliciano practically jumped into his arms, a hand behind Arthur's head and the other wrapped around his shoulders, feet off the ground for a split-second before Arthur thought his balance might go. He caught him in a fast, close hug, felt Feliciano's heart beating wild through their jackets and scarves, and listened to him laugh and gasp next to his ear. "Arthur I love you, but I'm _freezing_."

"You don't feel cold to me, love." Except that when Feliciano climbed down and pulled him into a full, slow-burning, the-rest-of-the-world-gone kiss, his nose was like ice and his cheeks, flushed and bright, were chilled just like his lips. Arthur had just the thing.

The reclining chairs set out were covered in snow, and so was their blanket, so after brushing off the surface and shaking out the red wool, Arthur settled himself first and tugged Feliciano down on top of him, making a mess of getting the blanket over their legs and wet shoes.

The thermos of wine was still warm inside, Arthur insisting Italy take the first drink and then kissing the spiced red stain off his lips. When it was his turn to drink, there was a wonderfully heavy aroma to the wine, cinnamon and something else stewing in the thick drink before Arthur found a soft, rich, dark black truffle begging entry at his lips.

Sweet and heavenly Belgian chocolate melted across his tongue, a guilty pleasure that made Arthur sigh and relax into his cold, crowded wet seat. Feliciano was practically purring on top of him, asking him several times if he was happy, telling him how pleased Belle had been to hear his request, that she'd gone to get her finest for them. Arthur responded, after another sip of wine, by stripping off his glove and running his fingers through Feliciano's wet auburn hair, petting the snow out of the locks and curls.

He eventually found a way to calm him down when tugging and playing with one lock of hair over and behind his ear made him bury his face against Arthur's throat and sigh loudly, straining blissfully with toes curling inside his wet shoes. These were the benefits of constant lovers, because Feliciano didn't come apart completely, but he did keep running his hand up and down Arthur's arm, gripping his shoulder tight and keeping his knees close together. It wasn't fair to wind him up like this, but it was certainly warming him up, and the occasional, involuntary press of his hips down over Arthur's made the next chocolate even sweeter and more succulent than the wine which followed.

If there was anything better than having a distracted lover whispering broken Italian pleas into his shoulder amidst chocolate, wine, and gentle snowfall, it was having an amorous but unfulfilled lover on top of him when the hair-play ran its course, but it was too unspeakably cold out for Italy to even take off his scarf, nevermind his shirt or pants.

"We should head back inside."

"I thought we were going to watch the stars?"

"_Arthur..."_

He was such a different person when trying to seduce or already successfully convinced. Feliciano was touchy by default, kisses and hugs and held hands, but when he was enamoured, those touches changed. It was still a kiss on the cheek, but it was grazing with a soft, sultry breath that made Arthur's ears perk up and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His fingertips played down Arthur's bundled up chest like he was playing the piano, fingers drumming smoothly and swiping at thick wool and braided felt in a way that should have been easy to ignore, but just kept promising the same caresses _without_ barriers, and how tantalizing they would be that way.

With Arthur doing little more than sitting back eating chocolates and occasionally feeding them back to his lover, he eventually found himself panting softly for breath. He was paying more attention to the glide of Feliciano's hand down his arm than to the weight freely spread over his hips. Just his thumb leading across the underside of Arthur's wrist, into his palm, spreading like a blossoming rose to catch his fingers in a firm, deeply convincing grip.

His lips were worth no immediate comment, because Arthur couldn't find the breath to say much with his lover lavishing attention on his eyes and cheeks, rarely dipping beneath his jaw, but fluttering shyly over his lips to tempt him, never satisfy.

"Alright-" he finally croaked, staring past the dark, focused gaze of his lover at the clear, now cloudless sky domed over them and the mountains. Really though, they could have been in a circus tent for all the difference it made anymore. A meteor-shower and Hailey's Comet with a lunar eclipse might have tempted him to stay, "Alright- let's go, let's just-" just _go_.

"You sound parched." Arthur was given a bit more wine to drink, Feliciano calmly warning him from drinking the very last in case he got a mouth full of spice dredges. Maybe to reward himself for getting his way, Arthur saw Italy pop the last chocolate in his own mouth like a satisfied cat.

Frankly, he just found it an effort in wet, cold clothes to walk with hot, clammy skin. They gathered up the blanket, the empty box, the thermos with its cap. Italy caught him in a chocolate-laced kiss that almost knocked Arthur off his feet, and then gave a gentle push on the door.

It didn't move.

Italy gave it a pull.

It rattled, but rejected him.

"_No._" That was Italian for _no._

"Do you have a key?" Arthur asked, numb from chocolate, wine, seduction, and the looming cold.

Italy, very frantically now, was pushing and pulling on the door, and muttered something about having had a hotel worker promise not to lock the way out after his shift. That, however, must not have accounted for anyone else doing a final round of checks.

Arthur went back to sit on the now mostly-dry and residually warm chair where they'd been lounging. About five minutes later, his boyfriend joined him again, whispered some nonsense about being sorry, and Arthur assured him that he still loved and adored him as deeply as ever.

"But next time, maybe we head to Switzerland's side of the mountains?"

The joke made his boyfriend start to cry.

But about twenty minutes later he was alright again, and the star-spangled sky was clear over their sleepy heads.

They watched the sun come up over the Italian Alps, and were later rudely lectured by the morning security guard for sneaking out onto the rooftop like teenagers. Later again, they were frantically apologized to by the hotel manager for the scolding. Italy said something to the effect of _"hotels like this are the reason why marriages fail"_, and the two of them caught the train to Geneva.

Where they somehow missed the delegate's dinner a block from the hotel. All four hours of it.


End file.
